Life is too short for boring stories

“It takes a name because it is otherwise foreign,” I finally tried to answer. “And if it is not a universal name, we remain alien to each other, just as many are alien to their bodies at all.”
“I think I can get along very well with my body,” my friend quickly interjected, “This is not enough for me.”
“Are you sure? When did you make the last diet?”, I asked.
“It’s been a long time ago, do not know exactly,” she said vaguely.
“But did it feel good? Did you have the impression that you were doing something good to your body, or did you not do it much more because you did not like your body the way it was?”, I asked.

“Well, not, but it does not feel good if you think you’re too fat,” she said, frowning.
“You wanted to shape it according to your will and treat it as an object that can be shaped. So you would not have been with you. It would have been so much easier to work with him than to control him, and that the mind had to control the body, it would work. And if you did not go through it, but you were subject to the next ravenousness attack, you saw that as your failure,” I tried a new start, “but when I see my body as something that is important to me, what is connected with my mind, then work together. Body, mind, heart and hand. If I speak of ‘down there’, and this can also be the pussycat or something else, then it is an object that has nothing to do with me. I can neither integrate it into my thinking nor into my feelings, it cannot perceive and accept it. As if it did not concern me. Except when it hurts. Then it is repaired. If I have sex, it is a purely vaginal matter, to which I demand an orgasm, as a sign of the right maintenance. It’s down there and stays down there. I cannot even associate the clitoral with the vaginal stimulation. There remain fragments that do not allow me to convey the vitality that could be. I deliberately and deliberately separate myself from part of my vitality. Perhaps it is not so important, but why, without a need, what would be so easy to achieve, just by designating the name. What I can address, I can also appreciate. What I can appreciate, I can also treat with care. What I treat with care is also good for the rest of the body and makes my mind free and wide.”
“I think I am beginning to understand, and as you explain it to me, it becomes more perceptive. Perhaps I have not felt well for a long time, but I could not be attributed to it, I probably would not stand,” she replied slowly and deliberately. Then I feel that he tastes of vanilla and almond. This is my tongue. It warms me from the inside. And at the same time I listen to you, follow your thoughts. This works because I feel comfortable, and because this feeling endues like my soft couch on which I sit. If I now had to drink something that tastes bitter, which gives me a feeling of discomfort, I would not be able to listen to you, because physical misconduct also influences my thinking. And so it is with sex. It has nothing to do with me. That is why my thoughts are saying goodbye and the act itself becomes something that is seen as a performance where it should be a flow. It’s like I’m putting myself on a nail bed and wondering I do not like it. This is possibly the reason why there are supposedly so many frigid women. You’ve lost your connection to yourself. “
“That’s exactly what I wanted to get out of,” I said, pleased to have made myself understood. “But how can I build a connection to something I do not know because I do not see it?”
“You mean, you can only name what you’ve recognized?” she asked smiling.
“I think so,” I said.
“There are two possibilities,” she replied, “the one is, take a mirror and look at it.”
“This is clear to me, but it is not a direct view, even if it is of course a help,” I said, “But what is the second?”

Without a word, she took the teacup from me, took me by the hand and led me into her bedroom, which I had never entered. And before I could say anything, because I did not understand what she wanted to go out, she closed my lips with hers.


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